


A Jug of Wine to Numb my Mind

by ALonelyFishlessFishStick



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alexandr Kallus does not want to be alone with his thoughts, Author Does Not Know How To Tag, Author may or may not have written 1844 words over a STUPID pun, Being an ex space fascist is not easy, But mostly sorry, Drinking, Feels stupid, Goodbye, M/M, Not that that is an excuse, Sad boi Kallus, Smoking, Sorry Not Sorry, Will Delete Later, english is my third language, same tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALonelyFishlessFishStick/pseuds/ALonelyFishlessFishStick
Summary: insert shrug emoji
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	A Jug of Wine to Numb my Mind

"Kallus! My office. _Now_ "

Kallus obliged. Not like he had much choice. Draven _was_ his superior. He emptied his caf, hoping it would cover the whiskey that lingered on his breath.

He left the room and took a right to arrive at Draven's open door.

"Come in, Captain. And close the door will you?" the general ordered. 

Kallus squinted. Was the light in here brighter? Was the sun out? _Already_?

He closed the door and stood in front of Draven's desk. He'd only been in here a few times but it was as messy as always.

His ISB bosses would have had a fit seeing datadiscs strewn about, papers out of their dossiers, half-eaten food and clothes unceremoniously draped over a chair.

Kallus looked up and met Draven's gaze. The man looked tired. The leathery grooves under his eyes had grown even more. Kallus hadn't thought it possible.

Draven cleared his throat.

"Listen, Kallus. I'll keep it short. I appreciate everything you've done for us so far. You've been instrumental in some of our recent wins."

Draven seemed bothered but continued.

"Some higher-ups seem to think you need a break. Your personal issues don't interest me but we've all seen the changes. We've all _smelled_ them."

Kallus gulped. 

Was he referring to his lack of personal hygiene or his boozy breath?

Either would probably have been a fair point.

"Anyways," Draven continued, "high command won't abide this behaviour. They're giving you two options. You either report to a doctor twice a week or you're out."

"We'll get you wherever you want and leave you alone. As far as we're concerned, you've repaid your debt. I'm giving the next 4 rotations to decide. Don't even think about showing your face around here."

"I hope you make the right decision for yourself", Draven's voice softened a bit, "no one wants to see you waste your life."

Kallus nodded and walked back to his desk. He was boiling with rage but his face was impassible. Just like he'd been taught. He _knew_ what _he_ needed. He pinned his datapad under his arm and walked out.

He blinked as he stepped out of the building.

The sun _was_ out.

For a moment he just stood on the steps, drinking in its warmth.

The fresh air filled his lungs and he felt his anger settle.

It wasn't until he closed the door to his quarters that he realized just how tired he was.

He slipped out of his boots and stood them next to the next. Nice and perpendicular.

He took off his shirt and trousers. He folded both neatly and rested them on his desk chair.

He drew his curtains and threw his exhausted carcass on the bed.

4 days of forced leave, maybe he'd use them to train . Maybe even spar.

The last time he'd spared was…

 _Nope, he_ thought and grabbed a bottle from his nightstand.

Garazeb Orrelios was not something he was particularly keen on revisiting.

His mouth crinkled as the rotgut hit his tongue.

It burned all the way down until it sent warmth through his belly.

A few more swigs and he fell asleep, one leg still touching the floor.

Kallus felt a jolt pulsate through his left leg. 

He tried to locate the limb but his head didn't move.

His mouth was dry. Fuzzy. 

He felt around, blindly, hoping to find a water canteen.

The only thing within reach was a glass bottle.

As soon as the liquor hit his mouth, Kallus knew it had been a bad idea.

His mouth was even drier.

He became aware of why his leg was hurting. It was hanging from his bed in a truly strange fashion.

He tried to lift it but flinched. The soreness worsened. 

He clamped both hands behind his thighs and lifted the appendage.

He just sunk back into his bed.

The buzzing of the base made for a perfect lullaby.

He closed his eyes and hoped to sleep it all away, the pain, the regret, the hangover, his broken heart.

Unfortunately for him, his body disagreed entirely.

His stomach rumbled, his tongue rebelled against its dry cavern and his skin itched.

He sighed.

He stared at the clock above his desk.

11.06

He buried his face in his arms.

His breath smelt like liquor and stale cigarettes.

When _was_ the last time he showered?

Because he'd run out of cigarettes well over 5 rotations ago.

Then again he hadn't really had any reason to keep up with his personal hygiene. Not since…

His body moved so his mind would stop.

His stomach rumbled again.

He emptied his carry bag and found a protein square. He bit down on the dry bar and chewed. It was crumbly and stuck to the roof of his mouth.

It tasted worse than the usual bars. It _tasted_ dry, as if someone had pressed lint and earth together and dehydrated the whole affair.

He almost choked on the thick paste that had formed. He wheezed and looked for his water canteen. It was on his desk.

He fumbled around, trying to open the fucking thing. The cool liquid pooled in his mouth before slowly trickling down his throat, taking some of the sludge with it. He could breathe again. He sank to the floor, still gripping his canteen but leaving the bar behind.

He thought about what Draven had said.

Could he still be useful to the Resistance? Maybe.

Did he want to be useful to them? Maybe.

He heard a knock on the door but didn't move.

"Captain, it's Officer Bevan. May I come in?"

Another knock.

"Captain, I can see your door isn't locked. I'm going to let myself in unless you object." 

The door opened, just a smidge. Smooth brown hair peeked through.

"Hey Captain"

Kallus barely nodded. He didn't mind the rookie. 

"General Draven sent me to check on you"

Of course he had, the nosey bastard. 

"I won't bother you long. Just wanted to see if I could do something for you."

The young man looked around the room.

"I could get you some food or some fresh linens."

Kallus gestured towards his protein square.

"No, Captain. Actual food" the officer retorted.

Kallus sat up, his back pressed into the wall.

"As you can see Officer, I am doing just fine" he said calmly.

Bevan looked at him, the messy bed and back to him.

Their eyes met. The poor guy seemed rather uncomfortable. He was scratching at his cuticles.

"Why don't you go to the quartermaster for me? I could use some whiskey and some cigarettes." Kallus said.

"I'm not sure that's what Draven meant, Sir" the man replied softly.

A scoff escaped Kallus' lips. What did _Draven_ know? Fuck all, that's what.

"Anything else, Sir?" Bevan asked plainly.

Kallus shook his head and watched the young man walk out the door.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.

Outside someone laughed. A burly, bones deep laugh. It sounded like Zeb.

Kallus missed Zeb. Missed his smell. His hands. His smile. The way Zeb made him forget everything because it was just the two of them.

Thinking of Zeb was too much. He needed his mind to stop. Just. Stop. 

He reached for the bottle he'd opened a few hours earlier. A few swigs and he could breathe again. His thoughts slowed and swam away.

He barely noticed when the door creaked open.

"I have your cigarettes, Sir," Bevan said, a bit too loudly.

Bevan handed him a pack of cigarettes. He also an additional pack of cigarettes and a bar of soap on the desk.

Kallus looked through the spilled contents of his carry-bag until he found a lighter.

Bevan gave him a long glance and left.

Kallus opened the carton. The delightful smell of tobacco wafted up his nostrils. It was musky and bitter with a hint of earthiness.

He took one out and smelled its length. He tapped the filter on his thumb.

His tongue darted over his lips.

He placed the filter on his barely moistened lips, they wrapped snugly around it.

He lit the tip.

As he took his first drag, his shoulders rose up and his mouth filled with warm smoke.

It rolled over his tongue before he pushed it down into his lungs. 

He waited a few moments before exhaling slowly.

He held it between his middle and index fingers, his thumb played with the butt.

His head felt lighter already.

These weren't the Coruscanti cigarettes he was used to, those were smooth and tasted of grilled grains and campfires.

 _These_ tasted like charred wood and burned his lungs. Nonetheless, he brought the cigarette back to his mouth.

On the inhale, his shoulders lifted again. His upper body once more filled to the brim. He let the smoke escape through his nose.

His legs felt a bit weak.

No wonder these cigarettes were shorter than the ones available in the Core.

He took another puff and reached for the bottle, carefully balancing the cigarette on his lower lip.

He unscrewed the cap, held it in his left hand and retrieved the cigarette from his mouth with his right index and middle fingers.

Using his thumb, he carefully ushered the grey ash into the cap.

Finally, numbness reverberated through his body.

As he put out the small glowing stub in the cap, he wondered if the cigarettes were laced with something stronger.

Might as well finish the liquor. Wouldn't want to spill any.

With two small swigs the bottle was emptied. 

He sighed, preparing his body to move. He pushed himself onto his knees. His upper body extended and his hands reached under his bed.

After a few moments, he emerged from the floor with a bottle of alderaanian something or other.

It was drinkable. _Barely_.

As he drank the liquor, his heartbeat slowed.

He saw nothing, heard nothing, thought of nothing.

He sat there until the evening chill made his right leg hurt.

He rubbed it before getting up. He noticed that his hands had hardened since joining the rebellion.

Standing up had been fairly easy, staying upright proved to be the challenge.

He stumbled forward but managed to use the back of his chair to keep his knees from buckling.

He chuckled. He wasn't sure why.

He hobbled to the bed and lied down.

He'd barely closed his eyes when he heard a knock. The door opened and Bevan came in.

"Evening, Sir. Just wanted to see if you needed anything."

Kallus laughed. He'd remembered what he'd thought of earlier.

"Heyyy Bevannn….wanna see my little callus?" he slurred, raising his left hand.

"Um...Sir?" Bevan asked, his tone slightly higher pitched than usual.

"Well do you? I'll even let you touch it," Kallus insisted.

"I don't think it would be appropriate for me to see your...kallus, Sir" the blushing officer said.

"Mmmmkay Bevan, your lossss", Kallus said.

"I'm sure it is, Sir," is the last thing he heard before drifting off into sleep's heavy arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "I Can't Escape From You" by Hank Williams


End file.
